Wednesday, September 30, 2009

All my worrying turned out to be for nothing. The bad interstate was traffic free and the drive to Big Scary University took all of twenty five minutes. Another fifteen minutes to park and find my way to the right building and I had forty minutes to sit in the student lounge and go over my slides slash evesdrop on the undergrads doing homework for their introductory engineering classes. One girl said "I was up all night but only finished two problems." Ahh, memories.

The lecture hall had two huge screens in the front of the room, about six feet apart. I found this immensely confining because I had to stand in the space in the middle and felt like I couldn't move without blocking one of the screens. Instead of my usual scholarly pacing, I was now limited to shifting back and forth on my feet and rolling my heels sideways out of my shoes, giving the impression that I was slowly growing and then shrinking the same two inches over and over again. Instead of an academic, I looked like Charlie when he has to go potty. And I couldn't stop fidgeting with the hem of my suit jacket. What was that about? Oh, right, I was too nervous to eat this morning so I took my morning calories in the form of three cups of coffee.

Despite the feng shui issues with the lecture hall, the talk went great. I managed to not blast through all thirty-five of my slides in ten minutes like I was afraid I would do (and have done in the past). It was more like thirty minutes, only ten short of the goal of forty minutes. I think I stopped making sense at about slide number thirty, when the screen I was using to see what was on the big screens went black and I couldn't figure out how to fix it without making a giant scene. This cool looking professor with an Italian accent sitting on the front row nodded his head through most of the discussion period, so if I needed some moral support I looked to him. The department chair liked my seminar said I did a particularly good job answering questions.

After seminar the department chair and two faculty members interested in my research took me out for lunch at a swanky campus club IN THE FOOTBALL STADIUM.

It was one of those places where you enter at street level in a pleasant but nondescript lobby, then get into an elevator and go up a few floors to a wood-paneled room with beautifully dressed tables, a maitre d', and a decadent buffet. Oh, and a bunch of carts the size of Radio Flyers loaded up with six different kinds of cake. My commitment to professionalism was TESTED today. TESTED I tell you. I am sure that "the chick who ate four kinds of cake for lunch" would be an interesting way to make my application stand out in the pack, but maybe not in the way I would like. Once I ate my real food, to my great delight, the department chair summoned the dessert cart and we were all invited to pick something.

The walk back was made complicated by the near ninety degree weather, my heavy black suit, my heels, and the speedy pace set by the faculty who were A) accustomed to cruising around the hilly campus in the heat and B) wearing appropriate shoes. I only was almost killed by a crack in the sidewalk once and somehow managed not to yell anything profane when I did.

I think they liked me. I enjoyed meeting them and talking with them so much. Everything about the visit was positive. I hope to hear something from them in the future, but even if I don't it is so good to know that I can hang in a discussion about my research with a bunch of faculty at this particular highly regarded research university. I did earn my degree and I do have value in the job market. I left the department chair's office finally feeling like a professional and not a student. Until I slung my computer bag across my chest like a bike messenger (and then headed to the quad for some angst and hackey sack).

As I was walking back to my car from the building (must invest in sensible shoes if I pursue an academic career) I checked my voice mail and got thrown right back into Mom-world when I heard Charlie's teacher's voice. "I mixed up the backpacks and sent Charlie home with the wrong one. His backpack is in the school office and you can pick it up tomorrow." Which was fine, EXCEPT THAT PHENT WAS IN THAT BACKPACK. I went to the church on the way home and appeared breathless and sweating in the main office, still dressed up, probably smelling like I had just completed the Ironman. "My son... left his bag... here... his... lovey... nighttime lovey... is in it." They sprang into action trying to find someone to unlock the school office for me. I don't know who Charlie was more excited to see when I walked in the door, but Phent is the one he grabbed and twirled around the room.

I woke up at 6:00, thirty minutes before the alarm, too terrified to sleep, so I took a shower, which woke Wesley up.

Got dressed in my suit then took Wesley downstairs for breakfast, forgot myself, and let him play this game he plays where he pushes me away and I act surprised. Got banana all over my suit jacket.

Realized that because my dad was coming to watch the boys, there would be people besides me inside my house, which was disgusting. Spend twenty minutes straightening it up. In my suit.

Made Charlie's lunch out of scraps because I haven't been to the store in six years. (turkey and cheese roll ups, yogurt, Goldfish, juice box)

Made Ryan's lunch out of the scraps of scraps (stale-ish ham sandwich, least dubious of the dubious apples langushing in the fruit basket).

Spent five or ten minutes trying to playfully get Charlie to bring his sneakers downstairs from his room. Dodged other objects flying down the stairs that were not sneakers. A book, part of his bedpost, a sham, a receiving blanket. Finally went and got the sneakers myself. Discipline FAIL.

Watched Ryan hack a scorpion to death with a section of Thomas train track IN THE PLAYROOM. Gagged in disgust as it tried to sting the train track. Gagged a few more times just for effect as Ryan wadded it up in a paper towel and took it outside. I'm gagging now just thinking about it.

I am starting to panic now because my directions involve the interstate and not the good freeway and the interstate is infamous for random mysterious traffic jams with no cause at odd times of day... like say ten o'clock in the morning... and I am thinking that allowing three times the time I thought I'd need isn't enough, maybe I should have allowed four times the amount instead.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The other day I was sitting in the coffeeshop, enjoying my Earl Grey Pot for ONE and a nice croissant while I worked on the presentation I will be making to the grad student seminar at Big Scary University on Wednesday. I worked through each of my slides, reviewing the material, making notes, sipping tea, eating croissant, checking the Huffington Post, reading blogs, double checking my references, fixing my figures, and checking Craigslist for things I don't need. It was delightfully relaxing.

Then I bumped the table with my knee and my computer TURNED THE HECK OFF ALL BY ITSELF.

Oh no.

Ohhhhh nooooooo.

I checked the connections in the power cord and jiggled the wire and pushed the power button, holding my breath. It started back up.

But it takes approximately forty-seven minutes to finish starting up because something is really wrong with it, but I haven't had the nerve to fix it since it started doing this in January-ish because of The Dissertation and the Not Wanting to Lose Everything.

Fortunately Ryan backed everything up on his computer shortly before it made that wookie noise and got so hot I couldn't touch it the other day. Taking the battery out was the solution then, but that led to the current asshole computer that won't stay turned on situation.

So it was starting up and in order to stay in a calm enough mood that I could stay out in public I gave Ryan a call. Charlie was asleep and he was playing with Wes. He was right in the middle of telling me a cute story about him when I breathed in the wrong direction and the computer SHUT OFF AGAIN.

"SHIT!" I said, a little too loud but fortunately not loud enough to be heard by other coffeeshopgoers (this was the same place Charlie and Wes put on their one-act play with the potty and the peep show).

"WHAT?!" said Ryan, exasperated.

"#@$#@$#@ computer DID IT AGAIN!

I went home and sulked. Certainly the only solution to the busted computer was to sulk on the couch and watch Law and Order.

Which brings me to today, one day before my seminar. I have thirty-three slides done, Ryan's unfamiliar computer, and about seven minutes of working time during the day. I have to talk for forty minutes and I have to go there with an unfamiliar computer that is not loaded with pictures of mah baybees. Panic.

And the department chair wants to see me before the talk. Panic panic panic.

Friday, September 25, 2009

(Charlie and Wes had been in the playroom together for several minutes when a fight broke out over something and they both spilled into the living room. Later I noticed four evenly spaced pink lines on Wesley's shoulder)

Me: Charlie? Did you scratch Wes while you were in the playroom?

Charlie: Nooooo

Me: Do you understand that it's very important to tell me the truth? Do you know what that means? Did you scratch Wes in the playroom?

Thursday, September 24, 2009

When I was a freshman in college I went up to the Wesley Foundation (heh) for a meeting. I was standing in the lobby, unsure of which way to go, when a friendly looking guy came out of the men's room and struck up a conversation. He was on his way to choir practice. I didn't even know there was a choir there, but the guy seemed friendly (and hawt!) and was a sophomore, so I asked him more about it. Ultimately, he went to choir, I went to my meeting, and the memory of the encounter moved to another, less frequently accessed part of my brain. Until I married the guy more than five years later.

I wanted to join the choir, but I was terrified of singing in public. So my introduction to the Wesley choir started nice and slow. I took my Calculus homework up to the Wesley every night the choir had practice and sat in the lobby working until they were done when Ryan and I would adjourn to the coffee shop next door to "study."

I finally joined the choir later that semester and I was hooked. I loved singing in harmony, I loved the piano music, and the music was meaningful and beautiful. The director was absolutely hysterical too. His name was Peter. He was from England, so anything he said sounded even funnier with his accent (and really, it's surprising that you can improve on phrases like "pull in your rude bits," which is what he instructed the men to do when they had high notes to sing, but you can).

Ryan and I became good friends with Peter during his time in our town, attending "bring your own beef" barbeques at his house, sampling his new baking experiments (always delicious), and watching movies together. He later moved to another city, but when we called him and announced our engagement he said "It's about time!" and then agreed to do the music at our wedding in exchange for gas and hotel money.

So on September 11 this year when Rice University was performing a Requiem composed by Peter, including some of the music Ryan and I had sung in choir years and years and years ago, we jumped at the chance to ditch the kiddos and head down there to see it. It was well worth it! Since we had sung with him, Peter had added woodwind parts and four soloists and several movements of new music. Much of the old stuff remained and I found myself mouthing the Latin along with the choir (no singing though, Ryan made me promise).

Rather than listen to me attempt to explain how incredibly beautiful the music was, how intricate, how stirring, you can listen to each of the movements here (and knowing Peter, he is snickering right now at the word "movements"). Go check it out!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

I picked Charlie up at school today and thought "Wow, Wes took a long morning nap and Charlie doesn't need a nap I can go to the store now like a normal SAHM instead of joining the insane rush with all the frazzled professional-types at five."

So I loaded everyone into the cart and steered towards the entrance. Charlie carefully smoothed Phent over the little platform by the handle of the shopping cart and laid his head on it. Hmmm. Not tired?

We got everything we needed and as I put Charlie in his carseat he said "I'm very, very tired.

He didn't go to sleep immediately but he was behaving nicely in his room, so I left him there. I laid Wesley down shortly after Charlie and he went to sleep. And then Charlie WENT TO SLEEP. IN HIS ROOM. BY HIMSELF. ASLEEP IN HIS ROOM.

And now it is 4:30, they are both still fast asleep, and I have pumpkin bread in the oven, green bean casserole all ready to go, and my turkey recipe picked out and prepped. And I washed the dishes. And all the breakfast and lunch dishes.

And now I'm watching Oprah and wondering why in the hell I thought I was ever busy before I had kids.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Hello friends! Sorry I've been a bit spacey lately... I used to write during naptime, but OH NO! No more naptime! Things never really improved after the last nap conflict. If he takes a nap now it's after being confined to his room for two hours, locked with me in a battle of wills while I seethe in frustration and he tears his room apart in an exhausted-yet-manic fury. It's really special.

So today after he had been in there happily reading his books for an hour and had only destroyed one small birthday party goodie bag notebook (and not any books! progress!), I went up there to sort through Wesley's future clothes stash to find some things that will fit him this fall. I sat on the floor in Wesley's room and left Charlie in his room with the gate up. He could see me and talk to me, but couldn't come out of his room. I didn't really have a plan, except for do not engage in a fight with an almost three-year-old, but he was being so nice that I let him out.

He stood among the clothes in Wesley's room holding Phent like a baby and twisting back and forth as he patted Phent's bottom (if he has a bottom), which is how I used to get Wes to sleep. And then he laid Phent gently on the big kid bed in Wesley's room, read him a story, and told him night night. And then I took them out for a piece of pie. It was lovely.

Maybe it's time to let this one go? SnarkyMommy let naptime go for her son who is a little older than Charlie and successfully moved his bedtime up to 6:30. It would be sad for Ryan (who gets home at six) if Charlie went to bed this early, but maybe it would make my life a little easier in the afternoon. No more protracted naptime battles? Everyone in bed in time for SNL Primetime on Thursdays? I'll TAKE IT.

******

On Saturday my diligent Craigslisting paid off once again when we scored two twin size beds, two mattresses, a desk with bookshelves, a dresser, under-bed drawers, and a nightstand for $375. It took three trips to a neighborhood that was in the middle of nowhere to get everything home in the big car (oh how I love my car) and then about an hour of trial and error and begging Wesley to stop climbing on everything to get one of the beds assembled.

When it was done we all climbed up onto the (taller than I expected) bed and took a picture (Never-been-used bug quilt and sheets also found on Craigslist).

Charlie looks tired because he REFUSES TO NAP. Wesley looks happy because OMG they installed a climbing gym IN MY ROOM.

We'll put the other bed in there when we take the crib down in about eleven months when Wes is ready to switch. I like to plan ahead. It makes me happy to be able to make such nice cozy places for my boys to refuse to sleep.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Me: No, unfortunately we don't have a theme for Wesley's party. His invitations are football-themed, but that is just because they are cute (And it's fall. And depending on who's playing there might be a game on). We are low key birthday people!

Labmama: I don't really do themes for parties either. The decoration of the cake is the beginning and end of our "themes." I have a friend that goes way overboard on themes. The last one that we were at was an Under the Sea theme...she hired a ukulele player for the party.

Me: HA! Hysterical. I am sorry to disappoint, but even if we have a "football theme," Colt McCoy and Graham Harrell will not be making an appearance. Which is a damn shame.

LM: Wait just a minute, are you putting Graham and Colt in the same category??? I am hoping that you're just tired! LOL! Graham is far more beautiful than Colt. And he is named after a sweet delicious cracker!

Me: Haha! I guess I was tired. I don't really know anything about Colt!Neither of them compare to my pediatrician. Or Rob Marciano from CNN Weather. I could go for some graham crackers.

LM: Now see I am a jim cantore girl. I fell in love with him way way back when he was a forcaster AND had hair. you know you're a loser when you are in high school and you like a weather guy. wes's party could have a 'my favorite hottie' theme! hmmm what cake would come out of that theme!

I love the way Charlie is dressed for yachting--white polo shirt, khakis, and his new loafers that he WOULD NOT take off after I brought them home from the store. Also the way Wesley is not dressed at all.

These guys are best buddies. Yesterday I dropped Ryan and Charlie off near the door of church because we were running late for Sunday School (again. we didn't even make it last week) and when they got out of the car Wesley cried and cried. This morning Wesley heard Charlie's voice at the top of the stairs and practically hopped out of his highchair to get to him.

Charlie gets really disappointed when Wesley falls asleep in the car. He calls Wesley, almost exclusively, "my brother" and sometimes does this running tackle/hug thing that Wesley finds terrifying but is really an expression of brotherly love. In fact, most of the ways Charlie shows Wesley he cares are dangerous and/or frightening, like the time he fed Wesley a whole bunch of tortilla chips and he choked and then gagged so hard he threw up in the sink. It was magical and special.

When Wesley cries Charlie reassures him by saying "It's OK, Wesley-Wes, I'm right here!" in his most soothing voice. When just Charlie and I were on vacation together, he saved all his blueberries at lunch and said "I give these to Wes when he comes back."

I'll have to remind them what great friends they are when they are big and smelly and hairy and fighting over the car.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Really and truly. Because Friday Charlie has school. He seems to now require the structure of school to behave like a human being the rest of the day.

Yesterday was a Very Bad day. When Ryan came home I was sitting at the kitchen table staring, shaking, and exhausted. Wesley was eating leftover rotini casserole for dinner. And Charlie, darling boy, was asleep on the floor of his bedroom, in the third hour of a nap that began at four o'clock in the car after I just couldn't take it anymore.

I call it "compression therapy." When they get wild and nothing else works, strapping them snugly into their car seats makes a world of difference. So yesterday, after spending two hours trying to get Charlie to take a nap and stop destroying his room like a coked up metal band--and in the process taking away (in order) the books in his room, a trip to the library, stories at bedtime, and his quilt (it's eighty degrees in our house, I was not being cruel), and after he kicked me as I changed his dirty diaper, and then punched me when I told him not to kick me, and after I sat by his door as he screamed at the back of my head for several minutes, and after I screamed at him to "GET BACK IN YOUR BED" so loud we both started crying (Wesley laughed. The urge to laugh when a sibling is in huge trouble must be innate), and after I had gone downstairs after returning his quilt in an act of contrition for the yelling, and after he beat down the baby gate and came downstairs, where I was on the phone with Labmama marvelling at how outrageously bad a two-year-old's behavior can be (TG for friends, too, know what I mean?)...

After all that, at a total loss but knowing things could not continue down the same rapidly deteriorating path, I strapped them into their seats and backed out of the garage. I didn't know where I was going to go. But it had to be far and it had to have a drive-through. Charlie was asleep within minutes. Not just asleep, but out cold. His head lolled around with every turn and stop, but he never woke up. I pulled through the Dunkin Donuts drive-through and placed my order and he never woke up. When we got home I carried him to bed, where he stayed asleep for two more hours. A three hour nap. Beginning at four o'clock.

When Ryan came home my plan was to go to the gym and get on the treadmill and run until I could barely stand up. But instead I collapsed onto the table and cried. Ryan encouraged me to go take a long shower, which I did, and then got in bed and read my book. Half an hour later I heard Ryan put Wesley to bed. Charlie was awake. He came into my room and got in my bed and snuggled up next to me. He clung to me for the next hour until Ryan peeled him away so they could go buy me cookies to apologize. We watched football together in silence, snuggled up on the couch.

He wanted me to put him to bed. Maybe to show me that he had learned something and knew he could do a good job. He asked for stories and I had to tell him that he had lost stories when he kicked and punched me. He very solemnly said "Oh. I only kick soccer balls." I tucked him in and kissed him and closed his door.

He was still awake when I checked on him an hour later, but I didn't hear a peep out of him.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Sometimes when Charlie is feeling grumpy we can get him to cheer up by asking him absurd questions. The one he truly can't pass up is "Does Rossby have a tummy?" He always responds "NOOOO!" and then cracks up. It's irresistable. Sometimes when he wouldn't tell us what he did at daycare we would ask him "Did you climb a mountain at daycare? Did you eat lobster for lunch?" It cracks him up and usually we can get a straight answer out of him that way. "No I didn't eat a lobster! I ate a turkey sandwich!" or "I go down the slide!" or "I go to time out. We don't hit our friends."

It was along those lines tonight, when we were trying to coax him up the stairs for bedtime that Ryan said "Charlie, do you want to put ME to bed tonight? You can brush my teeth and read me a story and tuck me into bed?" We all laughed and, surprisingly, Charlie ran straight up the stairs without a single complaint. We exchanged a surprised glance then Ryan followed Charlie up the stairs.

When Ryan came back from putting Charlie to bed he was laughing.

When he went into Charlie's room Charlie went into his closet and got his biggest pair of hand-me-down jammies and said to Ryan "OK, Papa, take off your shirt." Then he read him a book, pulled the covers back, handed a stuffed animal to Ryan, and made him lie down.

When the gig was up and Ryan got out of Charlie's bed to proceed with Charlie's usual bedtime routine he played "morning" and carefully made his bed, first pulling up the sheet, then the quilt, and artfully arranging his pillows against his headboard. Surely he couldn't go to bed if it was morning.

Charlie's first day of school is tomorrow. He is very excited that he will be in the Turtle class, that he has a cubby, and that he gets to use a lunch box. He chose a Spiderman lunch box and didn't put it down for two days after we bought it. Also, yesterday I bought a quilt and sheet set (Craigslist HOLLAH!) for Wesley's big boy bed (which I am currently shopping for. On Craigslist). I'm still adjusting to being somebody's mom let alone having a preschooler and a toddler. It seems like it was both just yesterday and a lifetime ago that I was well rested and showered on a regular basis. Somebody hold me.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

While I was busy looking for a job and keeping track of everyone's antibiotics dosing schedule, Wesley has turned into a really cool almost-toddler. And Charlie is a real boy.

At breakfast, Charlie sang a stirring rendition of "The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow," complete with jazz hands, and Wesley rewarded him with a round of applause.

Later I was checking my email and heard a funny rustling noise and looked over to find him standing in the big seat of the stroller several feet over the tile floor in the foyer. And then, after I had collapsed the stroller and shooed him off to the play room, the theme music to Curious George came on and he charged out of the play room and around the corner, than sat up and danced as he watched the beginning of George.

And then as I was writing this I found him here:

Then I looked away for two seconds and found him here:

He was playing with the two little boy statues my grandma gave me. As Charlie knows, little boys don't touch the little boys.

He is quite the little climber. I gave up trying to keep him off the top of the toy box, which affords a tantalizing view out the window, and taught him how to get down safely. He loves to stand up there pounding his open palms on the window as people walk by. Then he climbs down feet first and goes on his way, off to find something else to climb. I'll remember that I thought this was cute when he is twenty and living in his car, spending all his time climbing mountains.

Yesterday he didn't take ANY naps. Normally he takes THREE. I thought that it would mean a crabby, irritable baby, but instead he was happy as can be. I think he just wanted to play with Charlie, his best pal who is home all week before his preschool starts on Wednesday.

Yeah! Charlie starts preschool on Wednesday. They have little classes that they go to throughout the day--chapel, art, music, movement (which is like gym), playground, and lunch. I read Charlie his schedule and when I got to snack, then playground, his eyes got really big and he said breathlessly "THAT sounds like FUUUUUUNNNN!" I met his teacher last night and she said "My name is Miss Sunshine [not her real name] and this is the best job I've ever had!" I think I might be more excited than Charlie. Which doesn't seem possible. When Wesley wakes up we are going to go pick out Charlie's lunch box. Bring on the licensed characters.

Update: Wesley is awake, because he never went to sleep. Here we go again. Charlie is still not dressed (except for undies and his new school shirt) and now they are both watching Curious George. As soon as I finish this cup of coffee we are going to have a fight about going potty and then we will be off to Target for school supplies. I LOVE fall!

Me

The Odd Couple

Charlie (on the right) and Wes. On the beginning of Animal House, Charlie would be in the frat with the navy blazers and oxfords while Wes would be on double secret probation. They laugh, they cry, they have mud fights, they encourage each other to dance naked on the patio table. Most of all, they are brothers and they love each other. Violently.

The Kid who Thinks He's Still a Baby

James loves Mary, his brothers, and his parents, in that order. He's fiercely independent, but will tell anyone who will listen that he's still a baby. He's Mary's number one fan and has a doll he likes to dress in her clothes.

Baby Girl

Mary was born in August, the youngest and a girl in a house full of testosterone. She is laid back and happy and totally impervious to noise.

The Husband

Ryan, husband extroidanaire, smartypants engineer, throws small children many feet into the air, appreciates all attempts at cooking, "the fun one", supports the family with a smile, makes great pies.